"Yes," said Dolores, gently.
"She is a—a—Miss Westlotorn."
"And she loves you very, very, very dearly and tenderly," said Dolores, in a quick, breathless voice; "and you are going to be married to her, and she will soon be your wife."
Ashby said nothing, but sat looking strangely embarrassed.
"You never mentioned her to us at Valencia," continued Dolores.
"No," said Ashby.
"And why not?" asked Dolores, who saw his confusion, but was eager to know the truth.
"I had not seen her," said Ashby.
"You had not seen her," repeated Dolores. "Ah!"—she hesitated for a moment and then went on—"so you saw her afterward. And she loves you!"
These last words were spoken with indescribable tenderness and mournfulness. "And—she—loves—you," she repeated, in a voice that had sunk almost to a whisper; "and she is to be your wife—the English girl!"